Good Earls Don't Lie

by Michelle Willingham

  Unfortunately, there was no time to earn the money swiftly. Better to choose a painfully shy wallflower like Miss Sinclair and allow her to live in England, giving her freedom, while he tended to his poverty-stricken estate.

  Rose was not at all desperate. Any man would be glad to wed her, and she had choices. And despite the hope in her eyes last night, he could not imagine putting her through the hell that was Ireland. It was better to distance himself now, to choose a bride who would not care where he lived or what he did.

  He ignored the tightness in his chest, shoving aside his personal wants. None of that mattered. He rubbed at his eyes, feeling bleary, for he hadn’t slept at all. Instead, he’d secluded himself in the study for hours, searching for another solution.

  Iain sat at his brother’s desk and opened up the ledgers, turning back to the earlier entries. An ache caught his heart as he read unfamiliar handwriting. Undoubtedly, it had belonged to his father. Or at least, the man he’d wanted to believe was his father.

  The earl had written detailed entries, documenting his investments, profits, and losses. The numbers blurred together, and toward the end of the ledger, his brother’s handwriting replaced the earl’s. Michael had become the new Earl of Ashton at the age of seven, though he hadn’t begun taking on his father’s duties until he was sixteen. In many ways, neither of them could remember having a father.

  Their mother, Moira, had taken great pains to help Michael assume the role of earl. She had hired solicitors and countless experts to advise him, and Iain remembered his brother complaining about the endless hours of studying.

  Often, they had escaped together, running off to go fishing in the river or swimming. And when he was old enough to help Michael, Iain had taken on the responsibilities of the land steward. He’d enjoyed talking with the tenants and solving disputes among the families. For once in his life, he’d been needed.

  And when Michael had died, those families had turned to him. He couldn’t fail them now.

  Iain closed the ledger, considering possible investment options. Although he had stripped Ashton of most of its funds, he might be able to sell off land that wasn’t entailed and use that as a means of rebuilding their fortunes.

  The butler interrupted him with a knock at the door. “My lord, you have a caller. A Mr. Cain Sinclair is here to see you.”

  It took him a moment to make the connection, but he realized this was about Sinclair’s daughter, Evangeline. “Take him into the drawing room and have Cook send up refreshments.”

  He left the study and walked into the drawing room. There, he found Sinclair waiting for him. The Scotsman wore a kilt and linen shirt, and his long, dark hair hung well below his shoulders. Had Sinclair been alive two hundred years earlier, Iain would have expected to find a claymore strapped to his back.

  “Mr. Sinclair,” he greeted the man, extending his hand.

  The older man crossed the room, a hint of a smile upon his mouth. Without warning, he threw a punch toward Iain’s head.

  Raw instinct took over, and Iain ducked the blow, seizing the man’s arm and pinning it behind his back. He’d nearly thrown his caller to the ground, but Sinclair was strong, despite his age. He twisted his way free and stepped back.

  “A crow’s curse upon you,” Iain spat out. “What in the hell was that for?” He hadn’t touched a hair on Miss Sinclair’s head.

  The Scotsman crossed his arms and regarded him. “You’ve been in fights before. No’ like the baw-heided Sassenachs who think they’ll be courting my Evangeline.”

  “Aye.” He’d learned to fight as a boy, and he and Michael had practiced often. “But would you care to be telling me why you tried to hit me?”

  “I wanted to see if you could defend my daughter, if need be. I’ll no’ let her be courted by a man who canna keep her safe.”

  In a strange way, it made perfect sense. “I only just met your daughter last night,” Iain pointed out.

  “And she was walking around with her bonny head in the clouds this morn, dancing by herself and smiling.” Cain Sinclair remained standing, and he eyed Iain as if he were considering how to best kill him.

  “Don’t you think it’s a bit too soon to be reading the banns?” Iain offered. “I danced with her a time or two, but no more than any other gentleman.”

  “Aye, but she didna care about them. You’re the first one who’s caught her eye since Lord Penford left for India.” Mr. Sinclair clenched his fist in a silent threat.

  “You’ve nothing to fear on that account.” Iain was glad to reassure the man. “Miss Sinclair is a lovely young woman, and—”

  “You don’t think she’s good enough for an earl, is that it?” Sinclair took a step closer, his face holding fury. “Because she’s no’ a nobleman’s daughter?”

  I may not be a nobleman’s son, either, Iain thought drily. He knew that Sinclair would do everything in his power to protect Evangeline. The man had been little more than a Scottish outlaw when he had married the Duchess of Worthingstone’s sister, Margaret. Their family had fought to make a respectable name for themselves, but there were still whispers of scandal surrounding their business. Because of it, Evangeline was a wealthy heiress with few suitors.

  He sent the man a half smile. “What I was going to say was that your daughter deserves better than the likes of me.”

  The older man let out a rough sigh and sat down. “I don’t ken if I should be offended or pleased. For you’re right.”

  It might not help his efforts in wooing Evangeline by being honest, but he sensed that Cain Sinclair would accept nothing less. And while the man had a fortune that rivaled the English monarchy, in many ways, they were similar.

  “Any gentleman would be lucky to marry your daughter,” he began, “but I do not think Ireland would suit her.”

  At that, Sinclair agreed. “Aye. And a godforsaken place it is now. The puir wee bairns shouldna be starving.”

  “Most of my tenants left,” Iain said. “But I owe it to the rest of them to help. We have no crops, hardly any food at all.” He met the Scotsman’s eyes evenly. “I am seeking a bride whose dowry can restore Ashton. If Evangeline is willing, I would consider it; however, I doubt she would want a life like that.”

  Cain Sinclair leaned forward, his eyes alight with interest. “I ken what it is to have nothing. I came from that.” There was a glimmer of understanding in his demeanor. “Tell me more about what is needed.”

  “I am looking to rebuild Ashton,” Iain admitted. “Our crops have failed, and even if we had sheep, there’s hardly enough to feed them. I thought about selling off one of the properties and investing in the railroad. But it would still take time we don’t have.”

  “Don’t be doing that,” Cain said. “I know men who’ve lost everything.”

  “And there were men who made more money than they ever dreamed of.” Iain wasn’t afraid to take a risk if the rewards were there.

  The Scotsman shook his head. “Every fool thinks that. In the beginning, aye. There was indeed money to be made with the railroad. But no’ now. Too many have invested, and that means fewer profits for everyone.” His brow furrowed as he thought it over. “I like your honesty, Ashton. And I understand what it is you need. But I’ve not decided if I’ll let you court Evangeline.”

  “I understand that. But I would welcome your advice on what to do.”

  The gleam in Sinclair’s eyes revealed that he welcomed the challenge. “Indeed.” A footman arrived with tea and refreshments. Sinclair took a cup and ate a sandwich while he thought about the dilemma. “You can’t be growing more crops until the soil improves. And if it’s food you’re needing, you’ll have to get that here.”

  Iain agreed with that assessment. “I can send supplies back for now, but eventually we’ll have to grow our own food.” He had no idea where he would get the money for supplies, however.

  “Later, perhaps. You should find a way to bring work to your tenants. I’ll speak with Margaret about it, but if the
women can sew, it might be they could help our business.”

  He’d heard rumors about the Sinclair “business.” It involved sewing sensual undergarments for young ladies. Aphrodite’s Unmentionables was a scandalous concept, and many men had voiced their disapproval while secretly purchasing silken petticoats and corsets for their wives.

  “I could ask the tenants’ wives,” Iain said. “But many are strong Catholic women who might think they’d be going to hell if they were to sew unmentionables. Still, it’s better than starving to death.”

  Cain studied him for a moment. “I’ll let you know. In the meantime, I will donate food and supplies for your tenants.”

  “I’m very grateful for it. It’s kind of you.”

  “My brother and I suffered through several winters in poverty. I wish that someone had tried to help us,” was all he said. “In return, I want you to help Evangeline. Whether or not I let you court her, don’t let her hide from the world. Make her feel that she is lovely and that she can have her choice of suitors.”

  “I should be glad to,” Iain agreed. “For it is true enough.”

  Her father seemed appeased by it. “Good. But there is something else you should know.” Cain lowered his voice. “There has been talk about why your family never brought you to London. Everyone knew of your brother Michael, but not you. Some are whispering about why you were hidden away.”

  Iain had prepared himself for that. He straightened his shoulders and met Sinclair’s gaze. “Let them whisper all they like. Suffice it to say that my mother and I never got along. She made certain that I stayed behind.”

  Cain shrugged at that. Then he said, “Evangeline will be attending Lady Arnsbury’s supper party tomorrow. I would expect you to dance with the lass a time or two.” He drained his cup and reached for another sandwich.

  Iain understood the man’s reasoning. Sinclair was asking him to help prevent his daughter from being a wallflower. Iain welcomed the opportunity to help the shy young woman.

  And yet, inwardly, he was comparing her to Rose. Miss Sinclair reminded him of a sweet younger sister, while it was Rose who held him captivated. He wanted to dance with the woman who struggled with every step, watching her face light up with joy. He wanted to kiss her in the shadows, breathing in her soft scent while their bodies touched.

  He was dimly aware of Cain Sinclair speaking about more investment opportunities and ways to rebuild his earnings, but Iain’s thoughts were tangled up in Rose. Although he was grateful for the man’s suggestions and his offer of supplies and food, he questioned whether it was right to accept the assistance. Logically, Miss Sinclair was the best choice—he knew that.

  But deep in his gut, it felt wrong.

  “Lord Burkham wishes to know if you are receiving,” the butler asked. Rose glanced over at her mother, who was twisting her hands and staring out the window. Iris had remained quiet during the past week, but her anxiety had heightened with each passing day. She spent her time reading, but nothing appeared to give her comfort.

  “I suppose so.” She didn’t know why Lord Burkham had any reason to pay a call. But there was no need to refuse him, either.

  Rose eyed her mother, wondering if she should send her away. It wasn’t likely that Iris was even aware of anything surrounding her. If she tried to remove her, it was possible that her mother would cause a scene. She decided it was best to simply leave matters alone. “I will see him here.”

  When Lord Burkham entered the drawing room, Rose stood and took two steps to greet him. It was a matter of pride, of wanting him to see how she had overcome her illness. Though she had fallen on her face at the last gathering, she pretended as if it hadn’t happened.

  Lord Burkham’s face brightened when he saw her. “Lady Rose, I am delighted to see you.” He then said, “And, of course, Lady Penford. It has been many months since I’ve seen you last.”

  Her mother behaved as if he hadn’t spoken a single word. She continued to stare out the window with her hand pressed to the glass. The viscount sent her a questioning look, but Rose simply shook her head. It was best to leave her be.

  He cleared his throat and said, “I spoke at length with my family yesterday. They were quite surprised to hear that you had regained your ability to walk.”

  Rose had never particularly liked Thomas’s parents, for they only cared about appearances.

  “Pleased, even,” he added. “And I was glad to tell them that they were wrong about you.”

  She thought about pretending that she was happy, that all was forgiven. But no longer did she yearn for Thomas’s approval. Iain had been right about him—Burkham was little more than a puppet whose strings were pulled by his parents. What did it matter if they now believed they were wrong about her?

  “Why didn’t you come to see me, even once, when I was ill?” she asked. “I mistakenly thought you cared about me.”

  “I did. That is, I mean, I do. But I didn’t want to disturb you. I thought you would wish to convalesce in peace with no one to bother you.”

  “Did you never think that I might need comforting and encouragement? Or was it simply that you thought I would embarrass you if I could only sit or be pushed in a Bath chair? You didn’t want a cripple for a wife.”

  He sighed and colored at her accusation. “You’re right, of course. I should have come.”

  Thomas drew his chair in closer and lowered his voice. “I wronged you, and I deserve all this.” He reached out to her gloved hand. “I know it’s too much to ask for your forgiveness. All I would ask . . . is that we might start again.”

  Start again? Was he serious? “Lord Burkham, I am sorry, but no. At one time I thought we might suit one another, but not anymore.”

  The viscount appeared confused. “But . . . Lady Rose. Whyever not?”

  “Because you don’t love me. You never have.”

  “What has that got to do with it?” There was genuine bewilderment on his face.

  A soft sound caught her attention, and her mother was now walking toward them. “He only wants your fortune, Rose. If you were penniless, he’d have nothing to do with you.” She sat down and in her hands, she held several pieces of paper. “But it no longer matters. It’s all gone now. Gone. Every penny given to help bring him back.”

  “What is gone?” Lord Burkham asked.

  A chill slid through Rose, a premonition of something terrible. “Mother, what are you talking about?”

  Iris held out the papers and Rose took them. “Lord Burkham, I think you should go. I must speak with my mother in private.”

  “Perhaps I should read the letters,” he offered. “I may be able to offer you help.”

  But there was no way of knowing if this was another moment’s madness or something real. It wasn’t his concern, and for that reason, Rose shook her head. “Thank you, but no.”

  He cast another look toward the folded paper, but acceded to her wishes. “Let me know if you have need of me.”

  She thanked him, inclining her head when he bowed and departed. The coldness inside her had intensified, and she opened the letter, reading its contents. It was from their land steward at Penford, telling them of an audit that went badly. He wrote that Lady Penford had taken a great portion of the rents and given them away once again—only this time it was far more than a thousand pounds. No one knew what she’d done with the money, and there was little left to pay the bills.

  Her heartbeat pounded, and Rose forced herself to keep her voice calm. “Mother, did you give the rents to someone?”

  Iris paled and confessed, “He said that he would help us. That he would keep the money safe for me.” Her voice grew distant, and she said, “I think he’s going to bring George back. He’s not dead, you see—he’s being held captive in India.”

  Rose closed her eyes, feeling sick to her stomach. “Mother, we buried our father. You were there at his funeral.”

  “No, no. It was someone else. George isn’t dead.” Her face tensed with unshed tears.
“I promise you, we’ll bring him back from India.”

  Dear God, now she was confusing James with her deceased husband. How could this have happened? Their land steward was responsible for collecting the rents and depositing the money. She didn’t understand how their mother could even have access to the funds. “Mother, tell me who took the rents. Who was he?”

  “I—I don’t remember. It was several weeks ago.”

  “Tell me what he looked like.” Rose was trying to keep the panic from her voice, for she had no idea how much money had been lost. “How old was he?”

  “I don’t know.” At that, her mother began to cry. “He was kind to me. I gave him all the money I could find. Every penny. I don’t know if it was enough to save George.”

  Rose sank down in a chair, wondering how dire their situation was. She needed to return to Penford immediately, to find out their financial state and alert the authorities.

  “Mother, is there anything—”

  “Wait.” Iris’s face brightened. “There is something I do remember about the gentleman who promised to help us find George.”

  Rose paused, allowing her mother time to speak. Iris straightened and admitted, “He was Irish. I’m sure of that.”

  Iain drove his curricle along the banks of the Serpentine, toward the stone bench where Lady Rose had asked to meet him. Her unexpected note had been terse, stating only: I need to speak with you.

  Instinct warned him that he would not like what she had to say. And when he found her waiting for him, her expression revealed that she had been crying. A footman stood nearby, and Iain wondered what was the matter.

  “Lady Rose.” He greeted her with a slight bow and helped her into the curricle. “Is everything all right with your family?”

  Her lips tightened, and she shook her head. “We have much to discuss. But not here.”

  Her footman took his place upon the rumble, once Rose was seated. Iain drove along the water’s edge, waiting for her to speak. Rose’s face held tension, as if she couldn’t quite decide how to begin. At last, she stared at her hands and said, “My mother gave away a large portion of our rents to a stranger. And now that our debts must be paid, we have very little remaining.”